


Standing Tall Amongst the Wolves

by MrMorton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Armies are bigger, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Not A Fix-It, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMorton/pseuds/MrMorton
Summary: A new island east of White Harbor, a new loyal Lord, and a different timeline presents itself. Will this Lord change events for the better? Or for the worse? OcHouse,OcLord. Not a fix it fic. Number of soldiers are exaggerated, because big battles are cool.
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

The battered ruins of the Saltpans truly angered him. To see a bustling small town reduced to almost nothing was disheartening. The docks were almost in pristine condition, though too small for his forces to land effectively. It took the better of three days for everything to truly disembark. This led to the remaining smallfolk of the Saltpans to leave the safety of whatever shelters they had. Though they were met with hostility at first, they realized that he was not part of the Lannisters.

Quite a few merchant stalls were still active, quite impressive really considering. Criston chewed a piece of dried fish, a large mackerel as he watched his men wander around town.

A young man passed him quickly, as if scared. Criston grabbed him by the arm quickly.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" A small smile grew on his face, though the strength in his grip did not show mirth.

"No… Nowhere milord, I work on a fishing cog and I need to go out to the river soon." Several stall owners peered over at the ruckus, though made no move to help.

"He's a Lannister spy! From Darry milord!" He heard a child yell and the young man whimpered.

Criston's eyes narrowed, "Who the fuck are you, and be quick about it boy." His tone turned murderous in an instant. The boy whimpered. "A bit young to play at war?" Fucking fool, you snuck away to fight the Greyjoy's at twelve. How can you talk?

"My Lord, please. I am just a fisherman's son. Please let me go."

He tightened his grip, the boy let out a pained cry. "I will give you one chance, tell me the garrison size left at Darry, and how you knew I would land here."

"Please! I don't know what you're talking abou-" The wind taken from him as his legs left the ground, a knee on his sternum. Dagger pressing to where his heart is.

"Now." The boy let loose a shaky breath.

"Only 100, My Lord. Please let me go." He persisted.

"Fine." He nods towards an awaiting man of his, who helps drag the boy away onto an awaiting ship.

He takes a horn from his hip, and blows two breaths into it. A gathering call, time to march. "Gather the captains, let's hunt us some lions!" A small cheer went up, in his troops and smallfolk alike.

He smiled to himself, they have suffered much in this war. Too much. "Pass out whatever supplies you can, Darryl." His Quartermaster expected such expenses when they left, they brought enough supplies to feed the North. An exaggeration, I think. I left it to Darryl, though the extra ships make me glad we have extra ships.

Oh well, to feed whatever ravaged smallfolk he can, is a task he will take. It took several hours for the men to gather, and for supplies to be distributed. He heard about a few of his men getting sweet on some tavern girls. Well, at least they aren't dishonoring them.

"Let's go! We have a castle to take!" A short burst of the horn carried down the line of men, the stamping of hooves and feet filled the air. He left 100 behind to defend what was left of the Saltpans, and to protect whatever crew is left on the ships. Supply lines were incredibly important, and they would need to be carefully guarded. It took a full day's march to arrive at the Crossroads Inn. Whatever smallfolk remained eyeing them cautiously. Starting to see a trend.

It was a quick march across the Ruby Fork, and they found themselves beneath the high walls of Plowman's Hall, of House Darry. They at the very least made the effort to look more manned then they truly had. A lone man stood on the gatehouse, the panic in his body showed his feelings on this matter. A white flag in his grasp.

Easy enough. "Wise choice! Now all of you, come out of the gate and drop your arms at my feet." The gate opened slowly, and true enough 100 Lannister men stepped out, tossing their swords on the ground.

"We've done as asked My Lord, all I ask is you let us all go. We are remnants of whatever cunt Clegane shat us onto. The Rivermen have bled us dry, we are hungry and we are injured." He seemed to fidget. "That fucker Clegane put the entire castle to the sword, the only remnants of house Darry is a bastard cousin." Criston sighed.

"Where is Gregor Clegane?" He thought carefully, "How many men are at his command and what are his orders?"

In that exact moment, a force almost matching his own reared the hill. The Mailed Fist of House Glover, the Three Pines of Tallhart, and the White Sun of Karstark. What the fuck are they doing here?

"He is on the Kingsroad My Lord, he has 4,000 at his command. He is to harry northern troops after the trap at Duskendale, which is supposed to happen within the week.." Any chatter grew quiet, "This information is true my Lord, I swear it on the seven."

"Kneel, all of you. Swear at my feet that you will not attack my house, my liege, and my people. You will cease your attacks of the Riverlands and you will not raise your sword against the smallfolk ever again." He took a deep breath. "You will follow this to a tee, if not.. I will raze your homes, murder your families, salt your fields and I will destroy any record of you in history. You have destroyed any semblance of safety in this land. If you go against me I will make it seem like child's play. Do not test me."

The leader of them took a shaky breath before going to his knees, the rest soon followed. "You will leave your weapons and armor at your feet. Good luck." The scramble to leave was quick, and hasty. Though he now had 100 more swords and a score of mismatched armors. They sprinted away quickly towards the Kingsroad, towards King's Landing.

More banners crested the hill, Hornwood and Cerwyn. Allies, at least.

"All of you, come on! Let's go join up with them!"

Telman Tallhart, Robert Glover, and Harrion Karstark approached him with smiles on their faces. Though they seemed surprised to even be seeing him.

"Lord Stilwood, we thought that you would never join us. You refused to call your banners, we thought you turned traitor." Lord Glover remarked snidely.

Criston snorted, "You know nothing, Glover." He clucked his tongue angrily. "Robb knows the reason why, I was attacked by thousands upon thousands of pirates and sellswords. I came when I could."

Robert softened his anger a bit at that. "His Grace has not informed anyone of that, we assumed the worst." He shifted his weight on his other foot, " We are marching after a quick ruse at Harrenhal. It is now under our control again. We were ordered by Lord Bolton to siege Darry, then move towards Duskendale to engage any fuckers there." Robett concluded.

"His Grace has taken the Crag, and is moving towards Riverrun for a brief respite." Harrion added on.

Why would Lord Bolton want them to head unknowingly into a trap at Duskendale? This doesn't bode well. Roose Bolton, an enigma. After the death of his bastard son Ramsay, he seemed to soften up. His heir, Domeric Bolton having narrowingly lived a bowel sickness, allegedly caused by Ramsay. He was quickly executed, Roose unwilling to have a mad dog besmirch what he has worked for. Furthermore, he was his kin. His great grandmother being a Bolton woman. She was a sweet woman, presumably the reason why Roose hasn't been leeching for 15 years.

I hope blood ties are enough for him to be loyal. Please, let me be wrong.

"Let's go meet with Robb, we can decide what to do from there on out. Lord Bolton's orders are going to be questioned. It's a three day march, and with us so close to the Crownlands, it would be wise for us to consolidate our power and figure out a plan." Criston spoke absentmindedly, his mind a whirl on other thoughts.

"A good idea, Lord Stilwood. Shall we take the River Road?"

"Aye, might as well discourage bandits and any Lannister forces. A 10,000 strong force of crazy bastards shall instill fear in our enemies!" A haughty laugh followed, Criston looked around and saw they were not amused. "Fucking humorless bastards." The trio of men laughed loudly at that. Criston shook his head and blew his horn, signalling the move.

"To Riverrun! Kill any bandit or Lion you see in your path! No getting sweet on the local Riverland girls! We have a time schedule to keep." He was looking towards the same man who was sweeting on the wench at the Crossroads Inn. A smirk, and he turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

Robb has not lost that many men, from the outside view at least.

Remnants of any remaining Riverlander troops were trickling in from the separate squabbling battles. It was annoying, the amount of whinging these bastards did. Gods it wouldn't stop.

Criston was not sure about these Riverlanders, upon seeing his banners in the lead mistook it for House Harlaw. He rubbed his temples, every single time. The host inside and outside of the walls of Riverrun was immense, 20,000 strong. More coming everyday from separate hosts out on various objectives. 9,000 more arriving with him, 5,000 being his own.

He spied the GreatJon Umber walking through the portcullis, a hilariously large smile on his face.

"He's smiling. Largely. I can feel my back breaking from the bear hug that will come." Robett laughed heartily at that.

The GreatJon was a close friend of his father's, and Jon was absolutely the kind of jovial giant to transfer that friendship to his children. He has only seen him once since the Greyjoy Rebellion, but he was glad to see the big bastard. He was a few feet away now, arms spread wide and ready to crush.

Criston received a fist in the stomach instead, well the scaled armor protecting his torso took most of the blow. It still lifted him off his feet as he responded back with a right hook into Jon's annoyingly strong jaw.

"You fucker! Where the fuck 'ave you been you little shit!" Jon bellowed, a bloody smile on his face. "You still hit like a fucking Umber, boy!"

"Fucking old bastard. I was fighting the pirates again, Gods! Has my House done something to make everyone so distrustful?"

"You weren't there for Ned. That is why they are acting in such a way." He had a grim frown on his face. "I know you though, Criston. I know you would have come regardless… How many?"

"Thousands, Jon. I lost a thousand of my own. A thousand jon. No amount has ever been lost upon my shores. They are growing bold, very bold. Sellswords, Sell Sails, pirates, exiles, Dothraki, all of the damn above! I was also at war!" His voice was loud enough for the rest of the castle to hear, they arrived in the main courtyard. "It was me! Holding the Eastern Shore, I will not have my damn honor questioned! When I was set upon by almost 20,000 marauding bastards. All of them dead!"

Robb Stark, His Grace, The Young Wolf, and The King in the North had now made his way down the stairs. Catelyn Stark to his right, and a young woman to his left, her arm in his. Who is that?

She was wearing a brooch of a direwolf clasping a small cloak around her. She was smiling eagerly at Robb. I hope that is a Frey.

Robb raised a hand and the entire castle quieted at once. For added effect, the entire castle dropped to a knee "Jon, that is enough." The much larger man nodded his head and stepped away from Criston. "Lord Stilwood, I am glad you have shown up. Size of your host?"

"5,000. My Bannermen, House Marnen, House Moore are bringing the rest of their men. Lord Marnen and Lord Moore will be with them. Lord Pryor will be joining us after he eradicates the raiders from Sisterton. I sent ravens to the Lords Declarant of the Vale." His quartermaster, Darryl whispered in his ear. "Once they are all here, I can march with 6,500."

A Riverland lord, six acorns on his breast, spoke up angrily. "You will speak to His Grace with some respect, my Lord. Do not forget, that is your King."

Criston snorted

"I've pledged no fealty to anyone but House Stark. Who are you to tell me how to address my Lord? Shall I kneel at his feet? Bend over when he asks? Piss on you, fucking acorn fucker."

Jon laughed loudly for a moment, and after seeing the grim faces on the rest of the gathered lords coughed into his hand to hide it.

Robb was an arm's length away. "I knew you wouldn't kneel. I knew you were fighting and holding the East shore while I warred here." Robb looked around slowly. Eyeing each lord. "If any man or woman questions this man's honor and loyalty! You will face me! 20,000 sellswords could have fallen upon our shores, as if the thrice-damned Greyjoys aren't enough! This man killed them to a man." Robb took a deep breath.

"You will not kneel to me, Criston. I know your loyalty more than most. I should have let you go through with your initial plan."

"What plan was this Your Grace?"

"Lord Stilwood would smuggle as many men as possible into King's Landing, and save my father. No matter the cost." Lady Stark gasped, tears shining in her eyes. "I told him not to risk himself, that our shores needed protection! There will be a day when I must call upon such bravery." He eyed Criston with a sharp look, "Today is that day! In a week's time we will muster any remaining men we have. We will march upon the Kingsroad and take King's Landing!" The roaring of men was deafening.

Oh fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a review! Tell me if i am sucking or not


	3. Chapter 3

"Shall I explain to you why this will end in death, Robb?" Criston remarked icily.

"We benefit from finishing this quickly. We siege King's Landing, We can treat for Sansa's release, and retake what we lost in the North."

"Robb, you have fought in battles. You have led well, and you are starting to be a good King,but you have fucked up several times, and for that I'm disappointed in you." Robb's eyes widened, and several other lords started roaring in anger.

Catelyn Stark laughed loudly, a thing she had not done since before Ned died. The room grew quiet once her laughter ebbed.

"Always playing the older brother, Criston." Criston's eyes narrowed upon her.

"My Lady, for the love I hold for your family and your husband. I will not comment upon the things you have done. For I know you have already suffered enough." Her lips tightened to a thin line.

Too harsh, this woman was a mother figure to you for several years.

Criston softened his expression,"Marrying that girl was a blunder," Jeyne seemed to bristle at that. "Your father instilled honor into you. I understand why you married her, however, losing the Frey's is more important than any dishonoring of a girl." Robb seemed to bristle, "I know you have heard this time and time again since you've married her."

Robb nodded, he sighed tiredly and rose from his seat. "All of you are dismissed, except you, Mother and Lord Stilwood." Oh, so he's wroth with me.

"I am King in the North and of the Trident. I rule over half of Westeros, I command 50,000 men. You will never belittle me in front of my Lords again. I can not let discourse spread in my camp!" Robb snarled angrily, Grey Wind snapping towards Criston.

Criston rose his full height, "Do not think to threaten me boy! I was fighting in battles before you even left the teat!" He was five, you are being too harsh.

No, he can do with being humbled.

"For the love I hold for your Father I will not beat the bloody piss out of you! Do you know what Kingship means? You will forever have enemies, you will always have a target on you! Ned would never have wanted this for you. I know you know that." He took a breath, "Robb, I want you to live, I want the North to thrive, and I want you to LIVE." He pounded his fist on the table, the many pieces on the war map scattering. A guard peeked in but quickly moved the tent flap back.

"What will you do when these whinging little bastards decide to betray you, or decide their petty squabbling is more important. These Rivermen are fickle, and the Northmen are growing restless. Robett wants his home back, Torrhen's Square needs to be back in our control. Winterfell needs to be back under a Stark. We…. You must avenge your brothers." The thoughts sobered Criston, whatever anger he felt vanished.

"I am not a greenboy anymore, Criston. You think I don't know all of this already?"

"Then when we are killed to a man by the 120,000 swords of the Reach, while we try to invade King's Landing. I want you to think about what we should have been doing."

Robb grumbled angrily, "We have to participate in my uncle Edmure's wedding before we do any sieging… I may have been too hasty in my declaration. We need to retake Moat Cailin at the least."

"Lord Reed can make simple work of it, poison the water wells, harry the garrison with poisoned arrows. Anything they introduce can be counteracted, we can have Reed garrison the Moat afterwards since he is almost at full strength troopwise. Begin fortifying the northern side." Criston concluded.

"It seems like a simple enough plan, but it doesn't solve our issues with the South. While Moat Cailin can defend any attack from the South, we will be effectively trapped North, if they get any wind of our motives." Robb took a short breath, "Which they will, I am not naive enough to trust every man in a host this large. We have to keep it down to a minimum."

"You declared your intention to siege King's Landing, loudly. While spirited and it significantly boosted morale, you need to think with your head, rather than your heart. Kings fall just as easily as any other man." Criston stopped for a moment, a lesson brewing. "My Father, and brother fought bravely, and nobly. Yet they died, why?"

Robb racked his brain for the correct answer. "They knew all manner of siege engines were sieging the walls, and they were too worried to get into the fight. They charged through the breach, fought against handfuls of men and engaged Maron Greyjoy."

"What happened after?"

"They were killed after a tower fell atop of them." Something clicked, and though he fought in quite a few battles now. He could always learn, or else he could lead the Northern host to ruin.

"They didn't step back a moment and think. What would happen if we fought upon the walls? As boulders fell around them. It is regrettable, and ultimately foolish." Robb nodded, understanding fully. "Your blood will boil, your anger will rise, and you will shit yourself. But you must always THINK, at all times."

Robb gave a smile, "You've grown wise, Criston. You are right, Father died as easy as any other man. I thought he couldn't ever die. He just seemed too strong for any to best him."

"Yet he died all the same." Robb looked at him grimly, and nodded. "You'll have to be more careful, and smarter than your father to survive. This is war now, you have accomplished much. Don't lose any more."

Robb did not react outwardly to his words, he picked a carved wooden direwolf and placed it at Riverrun. "You may go now, we march to the Twins in two days." Criston nodded.

To see him live, that is the least I owe Ned. To see their children free, that is the least I owe Catelyn. They prepared me for Lordship, and for that I will destroy any enemy necessary.

Robb decided half of the host would split under his most senior commanders. His principal bannermen would go with him to the Twins, with Criston's host, the Karstark host, some of the Umber host and the Bolton host to join them on the march there. Majority of the heirs of the North were also coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a review if you want


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning came, Criston broke his fast on a bit of beef and barley stew. The watered down ale served to wake him up. I need to talk to my cousin. Roose Bolton is a cold calculating man, but the narrow survival of Domeric Bolton from a wasting stomach sickness seemed to lighten him up. Even just a little, Criston stayed in close contact with him. His relation through his great grandmother, made Roose a cousin.

The interesting part is that I am Second in line to the Dreadfort. Though I would rather torch a castle with such history down than rule over it. I have Ebony Cove.

He was deeply lost in thought as he approached the Bolton's part of the camp, Same as always, efficient and simple. I can only hope Roose isn't being a fool, Ned Stark showed him nothing but loyalty and was nothing but good for him.

They were even planning on joining their houses through marriage, we were so close to peace.

So close to burying the disgusting and bloody history between two houses. Ned, I will try my best, I swear on the Old Gods. A strong gust of wind struck the camp at that moment, strong enough to send improperly nailed down tents to rise to the sky and be carried off. Okay, that is absolutely unexpected. Are they truly listening?

He shook his head, as Steelshanks Walton was waiting outside his Lord's tent.

"By the Gods boy, you've grown into a man." Walton gave a hearty laugh, "Lord Bolton was just as surprised! The bastard even smiled, you know how that is." Criston nodded with a smile on his face.

"Walton, it is good to see you hale. You old fucking bastard."

Walton laughed harder, his face turning red. "Gods, and I thought you were a fiesty child. You grew to be a fucking arsehole! Ha!" Criston shook his hand strongly. Walton lifted the flap of the tent, Domeric and Roose seemed to be waiting for him.

It was odd, to see Roose actually pleased. He has spent only a few years here and there when he traveled with his Father. His father had relayed the importance of family relations, it was why he warded him around his family tied Houses.

"Cousin, glad to see you healthy." Criston gave a genuine smile, Roose was a surprisingly good man, on the outside. Is the potential trap at Duskendale just false information?

There were several smaller lords at his table, Locke, Flint of Widow's Watch, and Karstark. Odd, but nothing suspicious. Roose is an important lord, and can command men on his own, separately if necessary.

"All of you may leave." Criston said curtly, eyeing the lords that are not Bolton. They seemed to want to speak, but a look from Roose sent them out.

"Criston, it has been so long. You are a man grown now, your father would be very proud." As his father had more familial ties to the Boltons, Cregan Stilwood and Roose Bolton were close friends, and close cousins. They fought side by side valiantly in Robert's Rebellion and at the Battle of the Trident.

He swore he could have seen a tear fall when he learned of his father's and brother's death.

"Duskendale, know anything about it?" It was there for a moment, but Domeric's lips seemed to purse into a thin line.

"The seat of House Rykker, a port town. Garrison of anywhere between 3 to 4,000. Siege would need to be quick and efficient, as King's Landing is but a rock throw away."

"Aye, spare me the false pleasantries. Why were there 6,000, potentially my 5,000 to a trap at Duskendale." Roose did not outwardly react, though a deeper breath presented itself.

"I have merely been tasked by His Grace to siege Duskendale, then use it as a forward base of operations for the eventual siege of King's Landing." Criston sucked in a breath, "The Tyrell's have joined with the Lannisters. Any force they gather could march North and annihilate Riverrun, Harenhall, or even The Twins. 100,000 men could sweep this land."

"Yet you wish to see our lands razed? Our countrymen massacred? For the love I held for you as a boy, I will not slit your throat at this exact moment! You will tell me the truth, or I will destroy you." Domeric seemed to rise, "Keep your wits, cousin. You have gone to the path of betrayal to the Starks, why?"

Roose put a hand in front of Domeric, and he took his seat again. "You know why, we can easily equal them in power. House Bolton could rule the North, I already have my… assurances." Roose's voice was speaking so softly, he was unsure he could hear him correctly.

"Eddard Stark was nothing but good and loyal to you. Fought side by side between you and my father. How fucking dare you plot betray his eldest son. Your King!"

"King's fall, and King's rise. You can join us, Lord Stilwood. Join us and you are second in line to Wardenship of the North. You are Domeric's heir upon my death."

"Grandmother would have murdered you as a babe if she knew you would dare this farce."

"Anila Bolton only wished for the betterment of my house. Her House."

"She was loyal to the Starks like no other." Criston's hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

"True, though she still had her schemes." Criston nodded.

"I implore you to reconsider, you can still come back from this." Criston sighed deeply, "You are still my blood, I wish for you to live."

Roose nodded, "Nothing is set in stone, cousin. Any outcome on the battlefield must be accounted for, and thoroughly planned. For now I am loyal to Robb Stark, tomorrow I may not be. His life hangs by a narrow thread, you can let it run its course. Gold will be there for you. Power next, or women?" Roose shook his head.

"You are my kin Criston, I do not wish to see you dead. I cannot however let news of my potential plans slip. How will you proceed? Join us and prosper, because we will win. Or die loyal? I can promise it will be swift." The way Roose could so easily speak such atrocity truly chilled him to the bone.

He is family, I have to try….

No! No. No…

"Domeric, be a man and speak your thoughts." Said man pursed his lips harder, he rose from his seat and faced Criston.

"When I fostered with the Starks they taught me honor, loyalty, and happiness. Ned Stark knew the deep history between our two houses and treated me like a son regardless." Roose nodded in agreement. "Yet my father knows that Bolton's and Starks could never truly live in harmony."

"Domeric is a dutiful son, even after his foolish ideals about his bastard brother." Roose commented quietly.

"Aye, I was a fool, and i still have foolish ideals, Father."

"Tell Lord Stilwood where your loyalties lie, my son." Domeric nodded and unsheathed his dagger from his waist.

"My loyalties lie with the Starks father, now and always." Roose rose to draw steel, yet as his hand reached his pommel, a tongue of silver cut a grim smile from his mouth. His surprised eyes flickered between the other two men and his lifeblood continued to flow.

Domeric wipes whatever blood on his father's pink cape. "Eddard Stark was more of a father in two years than you ever were." He looked coldly down at his father's cooling corpse.

"How loyal is Walton, Dom?"

"He was already informed on my father's eventual death. By his enemies, of course." Criston nodded his agreement.

"Midnight is fast approaching. Get Walton to drag his body somewhere then raise the alarm. Roose Bolton was murdered by a Lannister assassin." Domeric nodded, he took a step forward but hesitated.

"Criston? How did you know I was loyal?"

"I had hoped as much from the brother I chose." He nodded and he left the tent promptly.


	5. Chapter 5

Criston awoke to chaos, one side expected and the other not.

Lord Roose Bolton was assassinated, and his body ditched in a nearby river. Rickard Karstark had murdered Willem Lannister and Tion Frey in their prison cells.

Fuck.

Lord Karstark had gone mad after losing his two sons, and after the planned escape of the Kingslayer. The man now being held in chains below Riverrun, the Karstart host being led by Harrion stood its ground.

Fucking fuck. There is no other plan, I have to see how Robb will proceed.

Harrion Karstark is roaring in anger, spittle flying every which way Robb listens patiently. Almost all of the lords who swear fealty to House Stark were present. He was lucky enough to hear what was going on, on his way to the ruckus. Steel has not been shown, so there was that.

The courtyard was in shambles, Harrion's anger was palpable and suffocating.

"Your father executed two captives, Harrion. Two boys! Such acts cannot go unpunished, you know this!" Robb roared back at him, his visage a snarling wolf. Also Grey Wind at his side snarling much more menacingly drove the point home. Domeric was not present, attempting to keep up the ruse.

"We never punished the person responsible for the Kingslayer's escape! She still is one of your advisors! He was our most important hostage, and he was released from some woman's madness!" Harrion was not backing down either. Criston shifted his weight to stand more comfortably behind the rest of the lords.

This will be interesting, Robb has to deal with his first unruly lord. Though I wish it was in less extreme circumstances.

"You will lower your voice my Lord, while I give you permission to speak freely, I am still your King." Robb's voice took an edge, Criston remembering it from Eddard Stark's war time talks.

"Why are there talks of my father to be executed when your mother gets to walk around, as if she never did anything?" Harrion sucked in a breath, "My two brothers were killed protecting you, in your wolfsguard. Jaime Lannister could best any man in this room at the sword and lance, yet those two brave yet foolish brothers of mine decided to protect your life!"

"My mother was only thinking in the best interest of my sister, desperation is a damning thing, your father for example." Robb shifted his eyes towards Criston, his stature visibly taller than most other lords. "Your brothers were good, honorable men. They tasked themselves with my protection, and for them to die in the field is a sadness I still feel. As I feel for any man," He pauses as his eyes scan over Maege Mormont and her daughter. "And woman who dies in this war. Yet that is war!" Several Lords nodded to this, Robb's tone softened, "Boys who are prisoners are not a threat. They were the sons of Tywin's siblings. They were valuable!"

Harrion quieted, of course he knew these things. He was angry, his father made a mistake.

"Send him to the wall." Criston's voice cut through any silence that was in the air. "Or keep him imprisoned until there is a respite in the fighting. The Karstark host is too important to lose, and Rickard's anger is understandable." Robb nodded, Harrion quieted further. "The slaying of two teenage boys can not trade the slaying of two others. Rickard can have his pick, the black or chains. I will advise against beheading him, Your Grace."

"My brothers did not deserve to die, Lord Stilwood!"

"This is war, Harrion. Prisoners cannot be killed without due cause. We have laws, and honor. Without it, we may as well be the Dothraki. Slaving rapist barbarians." The room grew quiet, for the first time in several minutes. "There is still honor in joining the black, and His Grace's bastard brother can always use a swift kick in the ass by his kin, no matter how many generations past." A short chuckle escaped Robb.

"I see the wisdom of your words, Lord Stilwood. I will consider them carefully, later tonight I will speak with Lord Karstark. Criston, Harrion, you will both be there with me." Robb swept a stray hair away from his face. "We still march tomorrow, my Lords. You all have your assignments! You are all dismissed."

Criston needed to tend to other matters, and would join Robb later as requested. Things were always difficult managing so many different lords, so many rivalries to juggle.

By other matters, he meant some pissed off she-bears. Aunt Maege would not be happy he did not go to see them first thing.

Gods, I can't believe I forgot. She's going to tan my hide.

In fact, Maege and Dacey were waiting for him just a stone throw away. Dacey had a grin on her face as Maege approached with a scowl on hers.

His spine was cracking from the bear hug Maege had him in, while Dacey was roaring in laughter.

"Cris, when I heard such a force attacked Ebony Cove, I had assumed the worst. I'm so sorry for not being there to help you." She let go of him and gave him a weak smile, "You are a man grown, a true Mormont." Dacey gave him a quick hug also, "I wish I could talk more, Cris. I am to leave on a separate mission of my own. Protect Dacey, Cris. As she will protect you." Maege was oddly serious, any jovial spirit gone.

"I wish you good fortune, Aunt. I shall defend Dacey with my life, you know that." Maege nodded, and seemed satisfied. However, Dacey's face belayed a hidden worry.

"My dreams are full of blood, Cris. There are more than just battles coming." She looked toward her mother, "Between the three of us, Mother holds His Grace's will. You can imagine who he would make his heir upon his death." Criston nodded.

Jon Snow

Maege spoke up then, " I am not your King, but I will advise you on this. If His Grace falls in battle or any other way, we will be lost. We will lose everything we have worked for, those Lannister shits will storm the Riverlands and our armies will be massacred. If it happens, take as many men as you can and go to the Wall. I am handing you a copy of the will"

Criston's eyes widened, this was…. Robb was planning for everything. His aunt was telling him to make Jon Snow the next King in the North upon Robb's death. To fight and take back the North on his way back to avenge the first King of Winter in 300 years.

"Does Robb know of this?"

"He planned it himself, though he has other lords in charge. More senior commanders, but your loyalty is unbreakable. The others are fickle, if only all men were raised like the Starks, this madness would have never begun."

"Mother, it's time for you to leave. Galbart is waiting." She nodded and pulled Criston into another hug.

"You are all I have left of my sister, Cris. You better stay alive, and if you must die, die standing." She took a step back. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come." Criston nodded.

This was much to take in all at once. He looked towards Dacey as Maege retreated further in the distance, "Why so much caution?"

"His Grace angered many bannermen today, and when he married Queen Jeyne. Walder Frey is the most fickle lord to ever exist, and Lord Karstark's madness has threatened to divide our force. Not to mention the death of Lord Bolton. Gods, what a day already."

"You should rest, Dacey. You look tired." She gave him a short glare, then snorted. She gave a quick wave as she went off to do whatever things a she-bear does.

He spent the next several hours cleaning and performing basic maintenance on his equipment. He gave out assignments to all of his captains, the news of the day made them restless.

Brief scuffles broke out between Stark and Karstark men, no blood was shed but bones were broken. Dacey had broken a man's nose, though they all seemed to calm after such craziness.

The day had passed quickly and the time of Rickard Karstark's judgement has come. Criston was nervous, much was at stake, and it would fall to Robb to not make a foolish decision. Not foolish, it would be his decision alone. A King's decision, one to not be taken lightly. He would have to trust Robb to do the right thing.

I'm thinking too much, Robb is no longer a boy.

Rickard Karstark was unchained at a large table, a mug of ale waiting for each man to be present. Harrion came soon after Criston and Robb followed last. Rickard seemed resigned, Harrion angered, and Robb had a grim look upon his face.

"Lord Karstark, you stand accused of the murder of two captives while they were under my charge, and my protection.."

"My sons were murdered by the Kingslayer, they died in battle. I know that, I know that any man could lose sons in war. Your mother released that sister fucker, I sent my horse to hunt him down. My revenge is not complete, to kill the nephews of Tywin Lannister?" Rickard looked Robb directly in the eye, "I only regret that they were prisoners, they are enemies otherwise."

"My mother made a grave mistake, one I have yet to punish properly. By all rights, My Lord you should be beheaded. I have decided to show mercy in this moment, you are to take the black. Or if you would rather remain prisoner until this war is over. Choose." Robb's tone was final, even the shadows dancing upon the walls gave a kingly visage.

"I want my sons avenged, Your Grace. I am one of the two men who first proclaimed you King, and I will stand by that. I want my sons avenged."

"We will kill every Lannister bastard we cross paths with, in their name." Criston added in as he shared a look with Robb, "I proposed you take the black, Lord Karstark. You are still a principal bannerman of the North, and cooler heads will prevail." Rickard nodded, "Unofficially, you are also going to help advise Jon Snow. As far as we know he is being groomed by Lord Commander Jeor Mormont to succeed him."

"To advise your bastard brother Your Grace?" Robb nodded, "I still remember the shy lad, so sullen over his bastardy, he didn't think himself worthy to dance with my Alys. A good lad."

All nodded.

"Aye, I'll go. I choose to keep my head, Your Grace. I will go."

"You leave after we retake Moat Cailin, several dozen of the Karstark horse will escort you North." Robb stroked his growing goatee absentmindedly, "You will be allowed to fight in the meantime. I know you won't run, you're too much a stubborn bastard for that."

"I would think you are a good man, Lord Karstark. A good lord, and you are my kin. I will not become a kinslayer."

Rickard could only nod, Harrion almost seemed satisfied. His father was not perfect, but his father nonetheless. Robb waved all of them out, and proceeded to rest his head on the table


	6. Red Wedding 1 - Chapter 6

The host gathered around the Twins was immense, 20,000 Northmen, 8,000 Freys. It was an intense sight.

Maybe we can get through this with Walder Frey being satisfied again.

They all mingled together, much merrymaking was happening, Northmen drinking and Frey men drinking. A bunch of drunken bastards who would cause much chaos in the night. It made Criston chuckle softly to himself, it would be a fantastic night.

Olyvar Frey, Robb’s former squire, met them with bread and salt as they and all other lords approached the gates of the Twins. He looked pale, and gaunt, as if he had seen the ghosts of the dead. 

“Olyvar, it is good to see you again.” Robb said happily.

“Y-Your Grace. I am glad to see you hale..” Even his voice was weak, what was going on?

There was another Frey behind him, name unknown to any man currently standing. Criston chewed the bread and salt mutely, the moment they finished. The Frey man took Olyvar by the shoulder and pushed him towards the bastard’s feast, and by the noise and crowd growing, they were having much more fun.

“Keep a weapon on you at all times, Your Grace. Something is odd, I can feel it in my bones.” Greatjon Umber leaned down and whispered in Robb’s ear, to which he could only nod.

“I trust that the crannogmen I sent for are doing their job correctly,”

“If there is any reason to suspect foul play, if any musicians in the gallery decide to get murderous, they will be dealt with.” Criston said quieter, his voice so quiet it was almost unhearable.

“Perhaps keep Grey Wind in the camps? It would be better than keeping him in the kennels?” Robb nodded, Greatjon had never sounded so serious. “Maybe we are being too cautious? It would be a greater insult to assume an attack at a wedding.”

“You are right, Jon. We are being too cautious.” Several of the other Northern lords gathered nodded, Criston had a grim look on his face.

They walked into the enormous great hall, so many named and unnamed lords were gathered. Gods, so many in one hall. Packed tightly like a school of sardines. He risked a glance towards the gallery and saw a hidden crannogman among the flute players. His eyes looked panicked.

Criston, who was weary from the march, and from many nights of little sleep, suddenly became filled with adrenaline. ….Why the fuck does he look so scared!..... This did not bode well, but  
There was no way for him to sneak away.

This is bad, this is truly bad!

Suddenly, the crannogman locked eyes with his, and a glint of a crossbow bolt showed itself in the concrete window of the gallery. He had just risked his life for that, it was the sign he needed.

He needed to talk to Greatjon, and find Robb. It was only a moment, but the two men were drowned in the sea of people. Mugs of ale, mead, and wine were flowing freely. Roasted trout, salted lamprey pie, cod, roast boar, slabs of beef, and so much more. Kegs of ale were flowing steadily into the camps for all to drink. He found the graying hair of the Greatjon way above the rest of the men, he strode forward and rapped him on the shoulder.

“Criston? What is it?”

“Come with me for a moment, Jon. I’m going to check on our men, it would be helpful if you joined me.” Jon looked sceptical for a moment and then nodded.

“Aye, lad. Come on then, I have fucking ale to drink!” He said it loudly and proudly, to not make his absence any more odd.

The moment they had any sense of quiet, and it was just the two of them.

“Jon, we were right to be cautious. Gather all the men you can, get them armed as quietly as possible. There is a battle to come. We only survive by getting ahead of this, we were lucky the Frey camp is on the other side of the river.”

The Greatjon was speechless, his body trembled, “For now assume it is us versus the Frey’s. Gather Grey Wind, he will know how to stay quiet, I will attempt to inform Robb right away.” Jon went to turn, “If this all goes bad, avenge us. I will never allow another Stark to die while I still breathe. We will fucking kill them all, Jon.”

Jon went to speak, but even his breath hitched for a moment, “You make sure my Jon dies a man, if he is to die this night.”

“I will try my best Jon.” He nodded and sprinted away, his legs striding him faster than any other man.

What to do, what do I do? How can we survive this? 

How does Robb survive this? What would Father do? What would Maege Mormont do?

….. What would Eddard Stark do?

Here We Stand!

Loyalty means everything, the Starks gave so much to him. His family is at stake. He will do whatever it takes.

Here. I. Stand.

A warm breath creeped up the middle of his back, a short whine showed who was behind him. “You are definitely larger than any pony I've met.” He patted him on the snout. “I’m glad you are a friend, Grey Wind.”

He chuffed happily, then a small snarl left him. Ryman Frey walked past in that moment, hurried feet carrying towards a Frey tent. Truthfully they were not even being that quiet about whatever will happen, it was impossible to keep secrets to thousands after all. It was why they kept their suspicions in a tight circle of Lords. Not even Rollam Westerling, Robb’s new squire was allowed to attend to even fill their cups.

There is no way for us to know if the Westerlins are loyal to Robb, even Jeyne could be in on it. I will have to think about it later.

“Go find the Greatjon, keep him protected.” He got to one knee in front of the direwolf, “I will protect Robb, with my life. I swear it on the old gods and the new.” A gust of wind so powerful rocked the entire area, a Bolton man was sent soaring into the river.

What the hell?

Focus.

Odd winds from the Gods aside, the feast was starting to pick up, and one could only guess when things would start. He re-entered the great hall, spying Robb’s squire attending to his needs attentively. The boy was loyal at the least, clever spy at the worst. There are simply too many variables to account for at this moment, Robb’s survival was paramount.

We could storm the Twins and twist the narrative, evidence of the treason is there. Is there more to be found? Robb needs to know quickly, we still have time. He made sure to not seem panicked in his steps as he approached Robb.

He placed a hand on his shoulder and Robb followed him out towards the camps, Ryman Frey approached with a worried expression on his face.

“Your Grace?” His words came out like honey, “Is something the matter?”

“A couple of my men are fighting the Greatjon in the camps, they can’t get him to stop beating their faces in. I’ll be back as soon as it’s done. Give Lord Walder my apologies.” Ryman nodded.

“Of course, Your Grace. I shall serve another round in your honor!” 

They watched as he walked away and made their way to where the Greatjon hopefully is, and by the angered yelling and a loud grunt. They neared the tent and were greeted with a sight that almost made him want to facepalm.

The Greatjob had taken a Frey captive, “That’s Tytos Frey,” Robb whispered next to him

“Was.” Criston responds, as he sees the knight’s entrails falling to the floor wetly.

“Jon!” Robb whispered harshly, “What the fuck are you doing!”

Owen Norrey was next to the Greatjon, and the Smalljon had apparently left the feast to join his father. 

These fucking fools are going to give us away, Gods. Big fucking bastards with no fucking brains!

“So, you are a rash fucking man Jon, but what the hell gave you reason to do this?” Criston lowered his voice carefully.

“We took a risk, Your Grace. It will most likely pay off, see if you can send off someone to gather all of the Maester’s scrolls. The old weasel seems too arrogant to burn any of his treasonous letters, and the Maester made copies.”

Robb’s eyes widened, “Jon.” He turned to the father, “Find the captains, give them their orders. Seize any Frey man you find and kill the rest. Criston and I will go and continue the feast, you will storm the castle after you gather enough men, and have the majority of the Frey’s captured.” He turned towards the son, “Take 5 others and go to the Maester’s solar, gather all scrolls and do not leave until we have won.”

They nodded and hurried to go to their given tasks.  
“It is likely too late to gather all of our forces, I ordered mine to go light on the drink, but you know how men are when in their cups.” Criston wiped the sweat on his brow.

“Aye, it seems likely we are to die today. I understand being slighted, but to kill so many thousands for a broken marriage alliance? Truthfully, the proposal was preposterous and greedy to begin with. But to kill 20,000+ men? I don’t understand!”

“Madness and greed, Robb. Walder Frey is a jaded old cunt, so make sure you live long enough to crush him beneath your boot.”

“Jon is my heir, but if anything is to happen to him…. You do what you must, for the survival of the North.” Criston took a step back almost shocked.

Criston whispered harshly at him, “Robb! What in the god's name are you implying!”

“You know what!” He returned his anger, “Your family spread themselves out as much as possible! There are so little Starks now! With the boys gone… There aren’t many who are close kin to my family, but you have so many ties to many families in the North. If it comes to it, become King. You have enough Stark in you. Please. Criston.”

“I… Robb, succession doesn’t exactly work that way.”

“I am the King.” Steel replaced his voice, “If Jon falls, or if all else fails. You will take my place, it is in my will. Your aunt knows of this already.”

“Robb. Please, the Lords will only follow a Stark.”

“Promise me, Criston. Take care of everything if all else fails.”

“....I…”

“Promise me!” Robb grabbed him by the shoulders

Criston yet again had a flash of blood and the screaming of men raced through his mind, his dreams growing more vivid. A roar split his ears, and the whimpering of a woman birthing a babe.

“I promise.” Criston felt ice creep into his veins, no Lord would follow him as King, this was absolute madness. Yet as Robb glared into his eyes with such fierceness, he knew he had no other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the turning point, leave a review! Thank you for viewing!


	7. The Red Wedding I

One of Criston’s many captains, Webber, approached him. “My Lord, we are preparing for the battle. We are attempting to keep it as quiet as possible. We had to silence a small patrol, and we must move quickly before their absence is noticed.” An odd fellow, but loyal.

“Good, the horn will be blown, you will blow yours upon hearing mine Then you kill any bastard who is a Frey, take captives if possible. If anything else seems off from the Karstarks or Boltons, capture them also.” Webber nodded and sprinted off

Loyalty is everything.

Just not to the Freys. Though Robb fucked that up first, Gods damn it. I am fucking tired.

A short walk back with Robb, and they found themselves back into the Main Hall. It was shocking really, the way everything seemed calm. It was….. Madness really, friends and allies one moment, and massacring each other the next. To break guest right was an affront against the Old Gods. It was to break the oldest tradition among the North. 

The Bear and the Maiden Fair was joyously filling the room, Dacey, in her beautiful jade green dress twirled around with a Frey. Ryman Frey, he’s much quicker than he looks. 

The drums were pounding, again, and again, and again. 

Then she approached another man in the Frey colors, and he jerked his arm away. Lady Catelyn looked startled.

They had yet to bar the doors, and Wendel Manderly was speaking to Lady Catelyn worriedly. He heard a gurgle from the gallery and saw the few crannogmen begin to slaughter the crossbowmen hidden above. 

Awoooooooooooooooooooooo! The horn pressed against his lips, a snarling howl left it. Grey Wind took up the call outside in the camps, and another horn was blown.

Then another, and another, and another, and another.

“So it begins.” He whispered to himself, as Domeric Bolton drove his dagger into the skull of Hosteen Frey, as Robb gasped to his left.

Robb was now on one knee, a quarrel sprouting from shoulder and calf. Criston tore the nearest table from the floor and wrestled it to cover Robb. 

“Robb!” Catelyn screamed as Raymund Frey approached Robb from behind, longsword ready to pierce into him. Criston was faster, as the steel bit into his forearm and exited the other side. Criston slammed his dagger into Raymund’s chin, and tore the longsword from his arm and from his grip as he fell limply at his feet.  
Criston hissed loudly, “Robb! Get the fuck down!” He saw Lucas Blackwood stab a man in the back as said man went to bar the door. “Cat! Fucking hide!” Catelyn looked towards him with wild eyes as she dove underneath the nearest table, her screams drowned in the horror.

Domeric tackled Robb behind the table as more quarrels were loosed around them, most clattering to the hall harmlessly, a crannogman with the Frog sigil of Blackmyre was thrown from the gallery. Not before taking one of the remaining crossbowmen down with him.

Dacey had found a sword somewhere in chaos, and had taken charge of Lady Catelyn’s defense. Wendel Manderly had fallen after goring a man in the throat with the bone of the leg of lamb he was chewing on, a quarrel to find itself buried in his mouth shortly after. Walder Frey was staring on in mute shock, as his perpetrators were met blow by blow, and death met equally.

Benfrey Frey approached Dacey from behind, “Grey Wind!” Robb roared from below, as the direwolf burst through the darkness of night into the Great hall. He met the Frey in three strides as his arm was torn from it’s shoulder from the tackle. To his dismay, Dacey was felled by a quarrel to the stomach and she fell to the side of the still prone Catelyn.

Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, and Robin Flint were attempting to hold off any Frey reinforcements from outside, the Riverlander Acorn Lord, dove bravely into a mass of Frey to keep them from entering the Hall from a large doorway hidden beneath the gallery.

I was wrong about him

Domeric hacked the hand from a man with a Heron on his chest, his arm soon following. Marq Piper and Patrek Mallister joined the few holding the reinforcements off. Grey Wind tore the throat from another, and another and another.

There was now a stalemate, and they were horribly outnumbered. There were still several entrances where more Freys kept pouring in, only a few fighters of the North and Riverlands remained, twenty at most. While the Frey’s numbered thirty.   
Domeric was attempting to bandage Robb’s wounds after snapping the quarrels from his wounds and pulling them out.

“Grey Wind, to me!” Robb whispered hoarsely, his throat thick with emotion and rasped from thirst. Rollam Westerling was tying a torn shirt around Criston’s left forearm as he held the longsword pointed towards the many bastards in front of him. 

We cannot hold, and we cannot rely on victory in the camps. Many men were drunk, and many more would die because of it.

“Heh! Heh, heh!” Walder Frey rose from his oaken throne, spittle flying from his barking laugh.

“Mayhaps we weren’t so clever! Heh, Your Grace. You seem to have a few watchful lords, Heh. No matter. You will die all the same, to dishonor my House! To think you would think I would take this sitting down!” Walder Frey popped a candied orange peel into his mouth, seemingly awaiting for when his gathered men grew brave enough to attack.

Owen Norrey grew limp suddenly as a spear exited through his back, clipping his spine. At that moment, any defense from the main doors fell, and now they were surrounded. Donnel Locke and Robin Flint retreated but not without wounds, by the time they made it to him, Donnel was barely standing as his shirt was growing more crimson by the moment. A crannogman from above loosed a quarrel at a man with a bow that had entered through the main doors, but not before it found purchase in the heart of Robin Flint.

Catelyn had crawled towards them, from table to table, with Dacey close behind. Her wound apparently was not as severe as he thought, though she crawled all the same. Dacey rose next to him, and as he scanned the room he saw that it was only the two of them still standing amongst the gathered Northerners and Riverlanders.

Here We Stand

Grey Wind snarled loudy next to them, the doorway where the Acorn Lord had held off Freys was suddenly cleared, and an obvious escape route. In their rush, they had abandoned the doorway. Marq Piper and Patrek Mallister rose from their cover at that moment, and Criston nodded towards them.

“Robb is your priority, any man who can still fight will lead. Domeric, good luck, cousin.” Dacey had a look of anguish on her face as she seemed to realize something.

If I am to die, I will die standing, I will die a Bear of House Mormont, and I will die a great ebony tree of House Stilwood! To protect House Stark is my duty, and I will die a man.

“Go.” He whispered, as the remaining loyalists flew with great speed through the doors, the hall so large, even the densely packed Freys fell over each other to catch them. Criston grabbed two bloodied spears by the shafts and slammed the door behind him. Jamming a spear to keep them from entering easily, and almost immediately the poleaxe of the Frey men outside hacked away at the door, and the speed of which scared him.

I am afraid

The only time a man can be brave, is if he is afraid.

The words of Ned comforted him, yet also steeled his resolve. Robb breathed shallowly behind him as he faced the door.

“Now is the time to leave!” Marq Piper roared at him, and even the still quiet Domeric looked at Criston with concern.

“Find the Greatjon, if he has survived, he will be waiting for you out by the kennels. I will slow them in any way I can.” Criston said grimly, “Do your duty, and protect your King!” Marq took a step back, and nodded.

Dacey hesitated, but then pushed them forward, “Go!” She screamed, her voice hoarse from grief. She looked back towards Criston as they neared the far corner, and her smile warmed him.

Here I Stand

The moment they passed the corner, the door splintered and suddenly the spear was not against the door any longer, and the ugly hooked nose of Ryman Frey was the first to pass through, and found the other spear in his manhood. Criston pushed forward with all his might and the girth of Ryman in his plate armor knocked six men down and made the doorway unpassable. If only for a moment, as he wrenched the spear from Ryman’s crotch, his screams drowned the air. Criston took a step back and speared the next man to enter, thankful for the narrow hall.

The shaft of the spear was slick with his blood, his forearm wound bleeding freely. He thrust again and the spear slipped from his grasp, and he chose that moment to run around the corner as the armored men stumbled around the dead bodies. He waited near the corner and swung his sword, biting into the Frey man turning the corner and separating his head from his shoulders. His dagger finding purchase in the gambeson of the next, stabbing the man’s heart, as he retreated further back.

“Fucking weasel cunts!” There were still an endless amount of them, and thankfully none hiding in the man rooms along the hallway.

He spoke too soon as the door directly to his right opened, and the absent Perwyn Frey thrust his sword into the skull of the next in line soldier. Olyvar Frey in a shirt of mail was directly behind him with his sword also drawn.

“My Lord! We will help you!” Perwyn said as he parried the blow of the next.

“Come then! Help me retreat back!”

Olyvar found his voice, though he seemed sickly, he had steel in his eyes. “Lord Stilwood! There is a doorway down the hall to the left that is reinforced, they cannot get through it with what they currently have!” Criston nodded and they kept rushing forward as quickly as possible until they were in front of the door and slammed it shut along with the piece of timber to barricade it horizontally.   
They were safe for the nonce, and Criston allowed himself to breathe for only a moment. He hadn’t noticed his shoulder had a deep gash from a poleaxe that was stabbed wildly earlier.

“His Grace is in the kennels, awaiting for the Greatjon and others.” He was starting to feel a bit weaker than before, but his grip on his sword was still strong.

“We will follow you, My Lord. We fight for the Starks, we are loyal. I swear it.” Perwyn said quietly.

Criston nodded, “Time is short, how far are we from the kennels?”

“Only another door, it will take us right to them.”

He pointed for Perwyn and Olyvar to show the way and they did as such. As the door opened they could hear the screams and clashing of steel. The battle was still going strong, and men were dying by the hundreds. The only respite was the jovial laughter of the Greatjon as he clapped Marq on the back.

There was silence however, in the immediate area. They had found a safe spot, if only for a moment. 

“Criston!” Catelyn said happily, and everyone turned towards the three that now joined with them. She was certainly happy while being in the midst of an intensely large battle. A giant of a man, well… A man just a head taller than the Greatjon, with jet black shoulder length hair stood with his back to Criston.

The unknown man heard the commotion, turned, and the gnarled face and eyes of Sandor Clegane met Criston’s.

The Hound is here?

“Criston!” A voice he knew, a voice he hoped to hear again, and a voice that belonged to a girl who was thought dead screamed happily at him. Sandor Clegane stepped aside and a small girl made herself known. 

Long face, dark of hair, and grey eyes, she looked much older. Though it was still the same girl.

“Arya?”


	8. The Red Wedding II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle outside the Twins

There was no time to celebrate the little Lady’s arrival, but Sandor Clegane was a boon, and by the blood on his blade he can already assume he slaughtered a few Freys on the way in.

Hopefully  
Robb seemed to have grown paler, but his bleeding had stopped. Marq Piper was still able to fight, Patrek Mallister as well. Domeric had a shallow cut on his cheek, and Olyvar and Perwyn were still in fighting shape. So they have eight men to protect Robb, Lady Catelyn, Dacey, and Arya.

Grey Wind, of course. It was not a truly terrible situation, as long as the battle in the camps were in their favor, they would yet live.

Criston was about to raise his voice as several dozen Frey soldiers sprinted through the clearing, their steel bared.

“Down!” A voice seemed to scream from the shadows, and every loyalist fell to the ground immediately as a rain of arrows felled half of the men present. Shadows danced and taut bowstrings loosed yet again, and another score fell. Criston roared from the ground and ran forward with his longsword skewering the nearest living man. His body catapulted both of them backwards as he continued his roar in the dying man's face. Spittle flew from his mouth, and in that moment it sounded like the angered yell of a grizzly.

“Here I stand!” He screamed as he hacked the next man at the knee, and saw another raise his poleaxe against him as a massive armored form barreling into the man then separated him into two at the waist. Gnarled greatsword sending sprays of blood everywhere.

“You Northerners are fucking insane!” Sandor yelled happily next to him as he cleaved an arm off. The Greatjon close behind them, killing another. Another volley of arrows soared around them, hitting every mark, and suddenly the yard was silent again.

Every arrow was a killing blow?

“Who’s there!” Criston said loudly.

A man in a green cloak shrouded himself perfectly in the darkness, yet made his presence known. The black roaring lizard lion bared proudly on his chest, Howland fucking Reed had left the safety of his swamps. Two dozen others came from the shadows around them, and dropped to a knee.

“Your Grace, I have arrived to escort you to safety. The battle is still raging, but we have established a safety zone for the wounded.” Robb weakly nodded from his sitting position, clearly needing medical treatment.

“Grab whoever you can, and go join the battle after I arrive at this safe area,” Robb coughed weakly, and two crannogmen lifted him from the ground onto a makeshift stretcher. 

“Happy to see you join us, Lord Reed.” Criston said happily, having never met the man personally, though Howland seemed to take a step back upon his words, and looked at him with wide eyes.

Wait, why is he here? Maege and Robett were to get help passing the Neck from him. There is way too much shit going on!

“A bear upon a wooden throne, a crown of swords and a sea of blood.” His eyes gleamed a bright crimson, “A dragon’s roar, and the birth of a babe.” 

What is this?

“The King of Red and the King of Black. First of his name, and the last.” Howland took a step forward and reached upwards to almost cup Criston’s cheek. His hand shook, and he returned it to his side.

“It has been two and twenty years since I held you as a babe, I have seen your future in my dreams, as I have seen the past.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Criston said as he stepped away.

“Lord Reed? Are you well?” Lady Catelyn asks demurely.

“I am quite well, my lady.”

“Perhaps… Should we get to the situation at hand? Leave the….. Dreams for another time?”

He even seemed embarrassed for a moment, “Of course, my lady.”

Criston could only think in mute astonishment, what the hell just happened? Some of what he said was familiar as he had experienced it in his own dreams. Though what else he said…. Worrisome.

He would find time to dwell on it later, there was still war.

“Jon, Criston.” Robb said weakly to the side, as his wounds were being cared for while the men prepared to leave with him on the stretcher, “Lead the men in my stead, Lord Reed will stay with me for my protection.”

“We will kill every fucker we can, Your Grace.” The Greatjon had an incredible bloodlust at this moment. “I’m going to go find little Jon then we shall join the battle!” 

Sandor looked pointedly at the two Northern men, “Aye, you too then!” Greatjon clapped the similarly heighted Sandor on the back.  
Criston nodded, then turned to Sandor, “Fight for the North, and for our King. You will be treated well.”

Sandor did not respond, and he was no enemy.

They found little resistance on their way to where the Smalljon should be, he was holding a thousand foot in reserve while great reaching lines of men stabbed and slashed away. It was more of a stalemate at this point, with two massive walls of shield protecting each host, while outriders killed other outriders. That was what they last heart from Lord Reed a moment before they departed.

They did not find the Smalljon, and the reserve was not present, for they had already joined the screaming melee as the allied host savagely were pushing any forces towards the Green Fork. It’s current was frightening at the moment, to say the least.

Yet again, Criston was approached by one of his many captains, Webber. He bowed, “My Lords, the initial melee was the bloodiest of fighting. We overwhelmed them soon after with our numbers. We have rough estimates right now but we have under 3,000 dead or wounded. Unfortunately the battle has caused many wounds in our men and they have been switching regularly with fresh troops. The Freys have incurred less severe initial losses, but a fresh idea in the battle could change that.”

“Good, we have control of the Eastern Fort, and we have several more crannogmen going for the West, slowly working into it. Rally whatever wounded you can who can still fight, and break our calvary away from battle and find mounts. The horses have scattered but we have time to gather while we push more towards the Green Fork.”

Webber nodded and sprinted off, men already gathering around Criston at the sight of him. So many sigils littered the field, dead, dying, or soon to. More would survive, as long as they were careful.

No plan survives the start of a battle, but plans never hurt.

10 minutes later, they had gathered 592 mounted men, the horses were not even all for war, but they will take what they can get. He hopes it will be enough. Jon had sprinted towards the melee a few minutes prior and Sandor was next to him the whole time.

He gave clear instructions to him, wait until the horn is blown, they were to give ground until they were within the perfect kill zone for a cavalry charge.

Hopefully, because the few I have is already not enough

I will fight with what I have.

He could spy the Smalljon in the distance, cleaving a man’s hand off. His father and Sandor beside him, the three giants cutting a swathe in the enemies. The Greatjon was yelling something, and they began the creeping retreat. He quickly disappeared from the battle with his gathered horse, creeping away in the woods.

They would retreat almost to the edge then begin a mass scatter within it, his cavalry will harry any stragglers left outside of the forest. Though they would be absolutely stupid to follow them in, it was a risk they would take.

It turns out oddly enough, that most of the leading Frey’s were killed or wounded. The Frey host being held together by a few bastards, presumably. It was a happy occasion, until the anguished roar of the Greatjon filled the forest.

Criston was not there however to hear, the pounding of hooves echoing in his chest as any spears and lances gathered were lowered. The horns were blown again, to signal their approach. The roar of 600 men filled the air and the beating of hooves shook the earth.

“For the North!” Criston roared the loudest, “For the fallen! For the living!” They were a mere 100 feet away from the thousands of slowly moving Frey men, “For honor! For revenge!”

50 feet

“Show these fuckers how we fight!”

10 feet

“For the Starks!”

He couched his lance, it’s point driving into the heart of the nearest man. It splintered explosively upon the impact and he reached for his sword. He hacked a dozen men, until a Frey man drove a spear into the breast of his horse. He rolled painfully, the bandages on his arm were filthy and his blood flowed freely yet again, he had no time to think as someone dove atop of him and luckily stabbed their dagger into one of his many sewn in steel plates.

He drove his free gauntleted fist into the man’s chin, and swung again, feeling the jaw crack under his attack he left the man to die. The mounted horsemen charged again, felling more with this pass then the first. Horses screamed and shrieked, and several dozen mounted men were now on foot.

He ran through another man with his longsword, it’s blade slick with gore, so much so he was worried he would eventually lose his grip if he was not careful. A loyal man, with his sigil stood beside them. 

“My Lord! Now would be a good time to retreat!” Criston agreed of course, they would be swarmed in only a few moments, though the chaotic chase into the woods left the Frey lines scrambled. It would be a simple retreat.

He hadn’t realized he was screaming, his horn blaring, and his blade thick with gore flying from his grasp. The retreat had sounded just a few minutes ago, yet more chaos ensued. They had formed ranks quickly and were fighting as they retreated backwards. The screams of death and chaos were louder in the forest, yet it felt they were in the greatest of hells.

He stabbed into the armpit of a man who punched into his gut with a morningstar, his gambeson absorbing most of the blow. The fierceness of the fighting made his head spin, it was not his first battle. It will not be his last either, but he never felt more worried in his life. He gripped onto a sword that had fallen from one of his men, horns were blown in the battle in the woods. War cries left the mouths of the men behind and in front of him as they saw the Greatjon, with his gnarled greatsword thrusting his sword into a man with so much force his body left the ground. 

Fuck it. We fight, we die, if we survive, we will truly be alive.

“Fuck it! Fucking kill the bastards!” He was met enthusiastically, and he kicked the nearest enemy in the chest and drove his blade through his open mouth.

They had fought for the better part of an hour, thankfully the Frey’s routed, losing their nerve after seeing how many losses they had taken. He was thankful, for he had taken some more minor wounds, and the amount of wounded they had was mind boggling.

They had won the day, they had won the battle. There was some resistance still in the West Castle of the Twins, that was only a matter of time. It was time to gather the dead and the wounded, and begin to heal.

The Greatjon had found some spears and men to heft a body he was carrying behind him, Criston's eyes were wide as the lifeless corpse passed him.

The Smalljon had been beheaded, and his father had suffered as he watched.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave reviews, let me know if i am doing a good or bad job!


End file.
